Possible Worlds
by Fialleril
Summary: A place for short one-shot fics and drabbles. New: Mos Espa is on fire, and Kitster Banai is looking for Anakin.
1. Tea for Two

**Disclaimer:** None of this is mine. It all belongs to George.  
**Summary:** Master Dooku and Padawan Jinn have a small disagreement over tea.  
**Notes:** Points to anyone who can spot the reference to a similar incident in the films. It should be pretty easy. ;)

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**Tea for Two**

There were many things about Qui-Gon Jinn that perplexed his master. Not least among these was the fact that the boy did not like tea.

"I don't understand how you can drink that, Master," Qui-Gon grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his still-bleary eyes with one hand and running the other through his mussed hair. He hadn't yet tied the longer pieces back in the traditional padawan style, and he looked at the moment rather like the victim of a bad practical joke.

Dooku snorted under his breath and took another sip of his tea.

"It's just so bitter," Qui-Gon continued, ignoring his master's amused look. "It's like drinking a bad day in liquid form." He made a sound of extreme distaste and reached out to grab one of the jelly rolls from the plate in the middle of their small breakfast table, shoving the entire roll into his mouth in one swift movement.

"That's very poetic, padawan," Dooku said with a smirk. Qui-Gon yelped slightly as his master's hand connected with his wrist in a none-too-gentle slap. "And don't do that again."

"Sorry, Master," the padawan said, but there was more amusement in his voice than genuine repentance. Nevertheless, he ate his next roll at a considerably slower pace, and in two bites.

"You'll never make a Jedi if you continue to have such atrocious table manners," Dooku said mildly. He took another sip of his tea and added, "And a Jedi must be able to accept the bitter things in life as they come to him."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Yes, Master," he replied, in the tone of someone who had stopped actually listening to this lecture after the first half dozen times he'd heard it. He favored Dooku with a mischievous smirk and added, "But that doesn't mean I have to _drink _all the bitter things that come along."

Dooku rolled his eyes. Qui-Gon noted that he did so in a refined and subtle manner, and fought the urge to laugh.

"Very well, padawan," Dooku said, sounding quite put upon. "You may add some sugar to your tea."

Qui-Gon grinned and went to retrieve the sugar bowl.


	2. Well Trained

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.  
**Notes:** This was written for a challenge on LJ. The theme was "What if Anakin and Padmé had had triplets rather than twins?" So I thought, what if Yoda had raised the third child? And this is what happened. AU, obviously.

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**Well Trained**

The tunnels are dark, filled with steam and the noise of clashing lightsabers. There is the thin wheeze of a respirator working too fast, and the more calm, almost sedate sound of natural breathing steadily maintained by the will. The noise of shifting feet marks the steady cadence in this dance of death.

Darth Vader, for the first time in his life, is on the defensive.

And he is starting to worry.

The truth has been told, his offer has been made—and his opponent remains unmoved. Levin is a true Jedi, and attachments mean nothing to him. He has been well trained.

Vader knows that he will not hesitate. He must end this quickly.

And then, in an instant, but too soon, all too soon, it is over. A swift strike, the sound of someone staggering back, the quickening and then faltering of a respirator, and then silence.

Levin steps forward and looks for a moment at the masked countenance of his fallen adversary. He is not surprised to find that he feels nothing. Master Yoda has always taught him that attachments are dangerous, and now he sees why. He is glad that he has none.

He has always been a good student.

Levin Skywalker turns and walks away, leaving the body of his father behind. He never once looks back.

Master Yoda will be proud.


	3. Hey Good Lookin’, What Ya Got Cookin’

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still not mine. Though I do claim ownership of Anakin's _cadril _chili. ;)  
**Summary: **Anakin and Padmé see each other again for the first time since their wedding night. He teaches her how to cook one of his favorite dishes.  
**Note: **Written as a request for StephanieC. Probably the sappiest thing I will ever write.

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**Hey Good Lookin', What Ya Got Cookin' (And Other Bad Lines)**

"Don't be so stingy with the spices!" Anakin laughs, using his longer reach to add several large dashes of _cadril_ pepper to the simmering pot before them. Padmé makes a half-hearted attempt at swatting him away, but she can't help laughing too. It's been three months since she saw him last, and at this point she thinks that a little too-spicy food is a small price to pay.

Anakin grins as he reaches deliberately around her waist to snatch the cheese and begins grating it into the pot. She rolls her eyes, but makes no move to escape the circle of his arms.

"How am I ever going to remember how to make this if you don't measure anything properly?" she pouts, mostly for show, because he's already showing off, and she might as well play along.

Anakin laughs again and reaches up to tweak her ear. "It's an art form," he says in his too-serious voice. "Every batch is different. If you tried to follow a recipe, you would ruin it."

She eyes him skeptically. "So what you really mean is that you keep adding things until it tastes right."

Anakin huffs. "You make it sound so cheap," he says, but he can't quite hide his smile, so he kisses her instead.

"Hmm." Padmé smirks. "I suppose that means you'll just have to keep making it for me, then."

"We can make it together," he says, pressing her closer as he hands her the spoon. It's a terrible line, and she's tempted to tell him so, but after three months, she's willing to let it pass. She's amused to think that she might even have missed his awful lines.

The _cadril _turns out well. It probably even needed that extra spice, but Padmé isn't about to tell Anakin that.


	4. And After This Our Exile

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George.  
**Summary: **Han and Luke talk about fathers. And don't.  
**Note: **Written as a drabble request for lyore on LJ. I'll probably be posting more of these drabbles soon.

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**And After This Our Exile**

"Hey kid, you all right?"

Luke doesn't respond—merely continues staring off into the forest. Han doubts that he's actually seeing anything. But he doesn't seem to be real upset. Just quiet.

Han's never much cared for silence, so he says, "You know, I never really knew my father."

Luke does look at him now. His eyes are quiet, too, but there's a spark of interest there. "Did you ever wonder about him?" he asks.

Han shrugs. "Sure," he says. "I guess all kids do. It's part of life."

The silence falls again, and Luke turns back to the forest.


	5. Sith Are My Specialty

**Disclaimer:** Everything still belongs to George.  
**Summary: **Dooku's life is composed of might-have-beens.  
**Note: **Written as a drabble request for sodzilla on LJ.

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**Sith Are My Specialty**

When Yan Dooku was seventeen years old, he almost kissed Jocasta Nu.

They were in the Archives, in the little-used section devoted to Sith Studies, and there was no one else nearby. Jocasta was reading diligently, the light of the holobook lending a soft blue glow to her features that Yan found strangely enthralling. He couldn't look away.

She felt his eyes on her, and looked up at exactly the wrong moment. Their noses nearly bumped one another and they acted instinctively.

It was then that Master Yoda materialized, also at exactly the wrong moment.

Yan never did kiss Jocasta.


	6. Mixed Fruit Jelly

**Disclaimer:** Everything still belongs to George.  
**Summary: **Hermione Bagwa is pleased to see her two favorite customers.  
**Note: **Written for a challenge on LJ. The prompt was "Post-ROTJ AU, R2-D2 and Hermione Bagwa: Artoo writes his autobiography—mixed fruit jelly."

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**Mixed Fruit Jelly**

It had been a long and trying week (the incident with the Corellian had proven to be the least of her problems), and Hermione was more than usually pleased to see her favorite customers in the Diner that evening. It had been almost three months since Luke Skywalker and Artoo-Detoo had dropped by, and she'd missed them.

The Diner was almost completely empty when they entered, and she suspected that was not an accident. She knew that Luke frequented the Diner partly to avoid the media (Dex had a policy, after all), and Artoo… Well, there weren't many places even on Coruscant that would serve droids.

She grinned as she approached their table, one cup of Jawa Juice and one plasma booster already prepared. Luke and Artoo might have been the heroes of the galaxy, but they were nothing if not predictable in their orders.

"So," she said, pulling up a chair and joining them. It was a slow day. She could get away with. "How are my two favorite customers today?"

Artoo gave a series of low, rather mournful whistles followed by what could only be described as a very rude blat.

"He's writing his memoirs," Luke offered. "Finished the draft, actually. But we can't find a publisher who's interested."

Hermione considered this. "Sounds off to me." She turned to regard Artoo. "You're one of the greatest heroes in the galaxy. You fought in the Clone Wars _and _the Rebellion! Why wouldn't they want to publish you?"

This time Artoo's beeps were decidedly biting. Hermione looked at him in shock. "Because you're a droid? Well what has that got to do with anything?"

Artoo let off a string of very rude sounding bleeps, but Luke just sighed in frustration. "Apparently it's a policy. Every publisher we've looked into will only accept manuscripts from biologicals."

Hermione snorted indelicately. She couldn't honestly say she was surprised. In the space of less than thirty years she'd witnessed the death of two governments and the birth of those that came after, but there were some things that never changed. Still… "I don't see how that makes sense," she said. "You know that practically every week they're publishing a new 'tell-all' book by some goon who claims to have known Vader when he was a kid." A glance to her left reminded her just exactly who she was talking to, and she added quickly, "No offense, of course."

Luke just laughed. "Oh, I know," he said. "Sometimes I pick them up and look through them, just because."

"Ever find anything good?" Hermione asked, unable to help herself.

Artoo released a string of beeps that sounded remarkably like laughter. When he added a further whistle, Luke shot him a glare and said, "Oh shut up. It wasn't that funny."

Hermione would have pressed him further, but the first customers of the evening rush had arrived. She heaved a belabored sigh and stood up. Customers always had the worst timing.

"Don't go anywhere, you two!" she said over her shoulder as she made her way to the Diner's entrance. Even as she ushered the group of Toydarians to a table and took their orders, she kept one ear trained on the conversation between the two heroes.

Artoo warbled something mournful, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Luke nod. "I know," he said. "I wish there were more places like Dex's out there, too."

Artoo's next comment sounded more optimistic, and perhaps a bit devious.

Luke gave a snort of surprise. "No, Artoo," he laughed, "I don't think Dex would be interested in going into the publishing business!"

Hermione smiled to herself and went to greet the next new group. Things were starting to pick up. She would probably have to com Flo off of her break soon. In fact… She reached down and flipped the call switch at her waist. No sense waiting. And it was always interesting watching Flo around Artoo. She had quite the case of hero worship.

Her smile grew as she heard Flo grousing in the kitchen. That would change soon enough. In the mean time…

_Five Jawa Juices, three Sliders, a dewback patty, and a mixed jelly tart._

She paused just long enough on her way into the kitchen to glance back at their table. Flo was already in deep conversation with Artoo, and all three were laughing about something. She heard Luke say, "Don't be so modest, Artoo. You haven't even told her about that time on Dantooine." As Artoo squealed in dismay and Flo immediately began demanding the story, Hermione's smile returned.

_Well_, she thought. _Publishing. Who knows? Dex has done stranger things._


	7. But Esau Have I Hated

**Disclaimer:** Everything still belongs to George.  
**Summary: **Padmé is disturbed by Palpatine's interest in her husband.  
**Note: **Written as a drabble request for jediem on LJ.

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**But Esau Have I Hated**

It was strange hearing Chancellor Palpatine talk about Anakin.

Not that he _knew_. He never even mentioned them together, except to occasionally commend Anakin's work in protecting her. But he talked about Anakin's latest exploits in the war, about the name he was making for himself in the media. He spoke like a proud parent praising his child to anyone who would listen.

It surprised and unsettled Padmé. Why should Palpatine take such an interest in Anakin? He'd been _her _mentor first, after all, and Anakin was not a politician.

She told herself she was only concerned for Anakin's safety.


	8. Boundaries

**Disclaimer:** None of this is mine. It all belongs to George.  
**Summary:** Obi-Wan meets Ahsoka for the first time.  
**Notes:** Drabble request for knightander on LJ. He wanted Obi-Wan and Ahsoka with no mention of Anakin.

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**Boundaries**

There was a teenaged Togruta girl in his living quarters. She looked quite at home, actually, and he found that perhaps more unsettling than the fact of her presence alone.

To the best of his knowledge, he had never seen her before.

Which did not at all explain why she was currently looking over one of his old holoalbums.

"May I help you?" he asked sternly.

The girl turned and grinned brightly at him. "Oh, don't mind me, Master Kenobi," she said. "I'm just getting to know the place."

Obi-Wan sighed. It was going to be one of _those _days.


	9. Left His Inheritance to the Jackals

**Disclaimer:** Everything still belongs to George.  
**Summary:** Darth Maul knows that he will never be the favored son.  
**Notes:** Request for skywalker05, who wanted Darth Maul in a fashion similar to "But Esau Have I Hated." This one is a double drabble and a half.

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**Left His Inheritance to the Jackals**

By the age of twenty Darth Maul had realized that he would never be Sith Master.

Darth Sidious had trained him well. He was a master of stealth, and among the best duelists living. He knew that he was more than a match for any Jedi.

But he knew little of manipulation, and less still of politics. Master Sidious planned one day to rule an empire. His apprentice had learned enough from him to know that what he was not taught was at least as important as what he was.

Darth Maul would never be anything more than an enforcer. If his master had intended him to rule an empire some day, there would have been instruction. But there was none, and Maul knew what that meant.

He had watched his master often enough to know the difference between a key piece and a pawn, and to know just how rarely those two coincided.

He thought perhaps he should have been more angry about this. His master was using him as a living weapon, an enforcer of his will, and a placeholder for the one who would truly inherit his master's empire—if such a person even existed. And so he should have been angrier.

But…he was good at being a weapon. He had never been anything else. And Sidious was the man who had raised him, who had molded him, made him what he was. Sidious was an artist.

For that, Maul owed him loyalty as well as hate.


	10. Were It Not That I Have Bad Dreams

**Disclaimer:** Everything still belongs to George.  
**Summary:** Vader dreams following his confrontation with Luke on Bespin.  
**Notes:** Drabble request for gizzi1213 on LJ. She asked for "a Vader drabble, something with him musing on decisions made, and consequences resulting therefrom." To me, that automatically meant Vader and Luke.

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**Were It Not That I Have Bad Dreams**

Once he dreamed of death. His mother's death, Padmé's, even Obi-Wan's. He never thought he would miss those dreams. He never imagined there could be anything worse.

Now his dreams are all of fire and darkness, of dismembered limbs and a young man's voice crying out in denial. The voice grows further and further away as the dream progresses, falling.

Sometimes, his dream self tries to catch the boy as he falls. Those dreams are the worst. He doesn't use the word "nightmare" lightly anymore, but these dreams… Yes, they are the worst.

The young man never takes his hand.


	11. Most Unbecoming a Jedi

**Disclaimer:** Everything still belongs to George.  
**Summary:** Master Dooku objects to his former padawan's choice of hairstyle.

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**Most Unbecoming a Jedi**

There were times when Dooku found his former padawan most intolerable. The boy had a habit of slurping his tea (which contained far too much sugar to really be respectable in the first place). He collected…things in his room. Dooku was fairly certain they were supposed to be dried plants, but he thought a number of them looked highly suspect. And he wouldn't be surprised if Qui-Gon kept them simply because he knew how much his former master disliked clutter.

When he mentioned it, the boy would just laugh. "I'm a knight now, Master," Qui-Gon would say. "You're under no obligation to step foot into my messy quarters." There was a twinkle in his eye when he said it, and they both knew he was only teasing, but something about it still rankled Dooku.

And now there was Qui-Gon's hair. Really, it was becoming ridiculous. It was in danger of reaching past his shoulders now, and still Qui-Gon demonstrated no inclination to cut it. Dooku was certain that no self-respecting Jedi ever wore his hair so long.

"Padawan," he said to him once, pointedly forgetting the fact that Qui-Gon was a knight now, "you look as though you have a clump of hanging moss growing on your head."

Qui-Gon just laughed again, reaching for a sizable dinner roll and swallowing the thing whole. Sometimes, Dooku despaired of his former padawan.

"Thank you, Master. I'm very glad you approve," Qui-Gon said cheerfully once the roll had disappeared. Well, at least he wasn't talking with his mouth full. That was something.

"I have nothing against moss as a plant," Dooku said, because sometimes Qui-Gon was picky about these things. "But as a hairstyle it looks ridiculous. And most unbecoming a Jedi."

"Oh, don't think of it that way, Master," Qui-Gon said, still with that twinkle in his eye. "Think of it as…as a tribute to Master Rancisis." And he covered his mouth with his hand to hide a snicker.

Dooku only raised one elegant eyebrow, but even that was a large concession, and Qui-Gon knew it. In an effort to salvage his dignity, he said, "Yes, well, I'm sure Oppo would be flattered. But you still look ridiculous."

Qui-Gon's grin only widened. "Well then, think of it this way," he said. "If I look so ridiculous, it'll only cast you in a better light when we go on missions. Everyone will think that you're the attractive one!"

Dooku fought the urge to roll his eyes. "As always, padawan, your logic is infallible."

And that was that, evidently. Qui-Gon never did cut his hair.


	12. Reflection

**Disclaimer:** Everything still belongs to George.  
**Summary:** Bail worries when Leia meets Vader for the first time.

* * *

**Reflection**

His daughter is beautiful, but she looks nothing like her mother.

Her face is her father's, and in his darker moments, he suspects that her temper is, too. For years, he is terrified that Vader will see it.

When she is sixteen, newly elected as junior senator, she is introduced to Vader. The Sith takes no interest at all.

Bail knows, then, that their secret is safe. Vader has spent the last sixteen years teaching himself to forget Skywalker—he will not see Anakin's features in his daughter's face.

He wonders whether that will prove a blessing or a curse.


	13. City Lights

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George.  
**Summary: **Newly elected Senator Bail Organa makes his first trip to Coruscant.  
**Note: **Written as a drabble request for minusforever on LJ. It's probably helpful to know that, in my universe, Bail Antilles was a nerf-herder and all around country boy before he went into politics and fell in love with Breha Organa (not necessarily in that order).

* * *

**City Lights**

Almost the first thing he notices about Coruscant is the absence of animals. It's not a completely lifeless planet, as his father feared it would be, but there is little non-sentient life to be found. He misses the green of grass, the sway of leaves in the breeze, and the sound of birds at least as much as he misses Breha. Possibly more, if only because their absence is a constantly present reality.

He tells her this in halting confession, because he tells her everything. But she laughs. "That's all right," she says, "I don't miss your snoring at all."


	14. The Storyteller

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George.  
**Summary: **Young Leia makes up stories about her birth parents.  
**Note: **Written as a drabble request for sunnyskywalker on LJ.

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**The Storyteller**

"I know why you adopted me!" her five year old daughter exclaims brightly, and Breha smiles. It's a new story every week, and she can't wait to tell Bail about this one.

"Oh?" she says, eyebrows raised in overwrought curiosity.

Leia nods vigorously. "Uh huh," she says. "It's 'cause my parents are famous space pirates. They fly all over the galaxy, fighting bad guys and freeing slaves. And they can't have a daughter and do all that at the same time!" She proclaims this with a degree of triumph, and just a hint of disappointment.

Breha smiles down at her. "Yes," she says, "that's exactly why we adopted you."


	15. After the Race

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to George.  
**Summary: **Kitster waits for his friend Anakin after a lost podrace.  
**Note: **Written as a drabble request for luminations on LJ.

* * *

**After the Race**

After that first crash, Kitster always comes to watch Anakin race. He doesn't expect his friend to win, though; Kitster Banai is a realist even at six. He doesn't even expect Anakin to finish.

All the more reason to be there.

His eyes scan the track, forward and backward, waiting. There's a kick of dust in the distance, resolving slowly into a pick-up speeder, Anakin seated small and dusty in the rear, the burned and twisted remnants of his pod following behind on the hover sled. He doesn't look at the crowd.

Kitster steps out into the track and waits, fingering the coins in his pocket.

When Anakin comes up to him, scuffing his feet in the sand, Kitster doesn't mention the race.

"Come on," he says, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulders. He bends his head closer to whisper, "I found a few coins in the stands. Let's go get a ruby bliel."

Anakin hesitates, looking back at the wreckage. "I have to take care of the pod," he says glumly. "Watto says."

Kitster shrugs, with all the carelessness of a child with nothing to lose. "I'll help you do it later," he says. "Let's go get that drink."

Anakin bites his lip, then nods decisively. "Okay," he says. They trudge off through the sand, leaving the wrecked pod behind, not looking back.


	16. Haberdashery

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George.**  
Summary:** There is no clearer sign of competence than a well-made hat.  
**Notes:** I'm playing with a couple of things here: 1) world-building and Neimoidian culture, in which a person's hat says a great deal about their place in society. 2) clichés! this fic is chock full of them, intentionally, because Nute seems like the sort of character who loves a good cliché. 3) the concept of Nute Gunray as the capitalist ideal of a man who starts from nothing and raises himself up "by his bootstraps" to achieve success.

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**haberdashery**

There is no clearer sign of competence than a well-made hat.

Nute Gunray had worked for years, _decades_, to earn the right to the prized masterpiece that adorned his brow. It was made of finely boiled wool, black (the color of authority), shaped in the likeness of dignity. It had been crafted by Marta Cansu herself, and was months in the making. It was the symbol of a dream realized.

But still there were those (who came of old money, who were _born _hatted) who grumbled and mocked. They called him the un-hatted one. At the beginning of his career, when Nute was still young and his hat was only a small, ill-made and torpid green affair, he had been bothered by this slander. But as he aged and his trade empire expanded, he came to realize that the taunts were the last gasp of a dying breed. Those who had been born hatted had nothing else to show for themselves. Nute, who had grown to adulthood on strings, broken promises, and a brilliant head for numbers, had snatched the very world out from under them. He had made and hatted _himself_. And the sting of it, he supposed, was that no one had been able to stop him.

He commissioned the hat to reflect all of this. It was tall, and regal, and divided on itself, slender and vulnerable. (It was also, coincidentally of course, the most expensive hat imaginable, as it was a very complex and delicate design.) It was black, naturally, but edged in crimson, a bold choice intended to arouse the anger of his detractors. And he dared to bind the hat with silver clasps. The nobility did not grant permission, but Nute Gunray did not need it.

A hat announced a person's reality. Nute Gunray would not define himself at the whim of others.


	17. home is where

******Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George.******  
Prompt:** Sola and Padmé sister bonding.**  
****Notes: **Set after Padmé's appointment as Senator, and before she leaves for Coruscant.

* * *

**home is where**

"I'll miss this," says Padmé softly, more to herself than her sister. She trails her fingers through the long grass of the meadow, wistful and slow.

Sola smiles at her. "I'll miss you, little sister," she says. Sola has always been better at saying what she means.

Padmé turns to face her, momentarily blinded by the setting sun. "You know why I accepted the Queen's appointment," she says. The words are old; it's an argument she's often had with her mother.

"I know," says Sola, and she reaches out, lightning quick, to tweak Padmé's nose. "You'll make a wonderful Senator."


	18. for the sake of ten righteous

**********Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George.**********  
Prompt:** Star Wars meets Sodom and Gomorrah******  
****Notes: **For reference, the biblical story is found in Genesis 18:16-33.  
This is set in some sort of undefined AU where Anakin never left Tatooine, and where his power in the Force has apparently manifested itself as a deep connection to Tatooine itself, so he's almost elemental here.

* * *

**for the sake of ten righteous**

Mos Espa is on fire, and Kitster Banai is looking for his brother.

He's not hard to find. He's exactly where Kitster expected to find him, standing at the edge of the burning auctioneers' row, just a little too close to the flames for Kitster's comfort. His face is ferociously expressionless.

It isn't as though Kitster can't understand. He'd be lying if he said a part of him didn't take a fierce joy in watching the slave stockades burn. From here, he can pick out a stockade or two that he himself has spent time in, catching light merrily in the dry air. The flames lick and pop, the sound like laughter on the hot wind.

If it was only the stockades, there'd be nothing to object to at all.

He can't think of anything to say, because so much of him does agree with Anakin. So, as always in such times, he falls back on Kanim.

"Is it fire, then, that will set you free?" he begins, and then trails off, feeling foolish.

Anakin turns to him, though, and there's a strange distant sort of smile on his face. "Or do you only wish to watch the world burn?" he whispers, completing the line with a wry tilt of his mouth. He straightens, and says, in a tone no longer weighted with ancient poetry, "But you know why I've done this."

Kitster nods, shifts his feet. "I do," he says, and hesitates, bites his tongue, then plunges on, because if he doesn't say it who will? "But do they all deserve this?"

Anakin scowls. "They are slave owners, traders and torturers." His fists clench, and the flames rage higher. "You have their scars on your back as much as I do. How can you even ask me that?"

Kitster bites his lip, considers, and fails spectacularly to answer. Instead, he points to an old hovel now crumbling and licked with flames. "There," he says. "Do you remember? That is where we became brothers. And there." He points further afield, to a ramshackle collapse of melted plastic and singed timbers. "That was Jira's fruit stand. And there is the old playhouse by the junk yard, where we watched the puppet show." It is a burned out husk now. "And there is Melee's scrap sculpture, the one she said would sell for thousands in the Core. And there is the store Kojna built after she was freed, and there—" He points, and points, and points.

Anakin's mouth tightens, his fists clench, his face sets like stone, but he never stops Kitster from speaking. When finally Kitster points to the place where they used to get ruby bliels and plan the adventures they would have when free, Anakin turns on him sharply with a sound of fury, and Kitster stumbles back, for the first time afraid.

But the words that leave Anakin's mouth are old, far older than either of their mothers, or their mothers' mothers. They're the words of Kanim again, and Kitster knows them instantly.

"My brother," says Anakin, "you have destroyed me."

He unclenches his hands. Below, the flames begin to die. Anakin lets out a strangled sob, and Kitster catches him awkwardly, tracing age-old motions against his back as he shakes.

Quietly, the rain begins to fall.


End file.
